


Sometimes Reality is Worse

by fiction_is_my_escape



Series: The Torture of Ensign Chekov, Pavel Andreivich [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Death, I Don't Even Know, I am sorry but totally not, M/M, Nightmares, Out of Character, Shameless muse torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiction_is_my_escape/pseuds/fiction_is_my_escape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings: Blood, character death, poisoning.</p><p>Sometimes, reality is worse than anything the mind can create. This would probably be one of those times. </p><p>Teaser: The door. Oh god. No. No no no. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't come in, couldn't let the gas out. He wanted to scream but his jaw was locked. He wanted to-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Reality is Worse

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I were playfully messing with each other's favourite characters. For me, it was Dean to torment. For her, it was Chekov. We gave each other prompts and then we started writing it all up. The idea for this series is what happened. This is just the first in a hopefully long collection of the things I do to torture the cutest Ensign.

The scent was strange. So sickly. So sweet. Like lilies, or what those people who made scents for the home claimed lilies were like. So disgustingly sweet. Cloying and burning, it trickled up into all his senses, making his eyes water as he staggered to his feet, the sound of his PADD falling to the ground barely registering.

The plant. It had to be the plant. He’d told him it was a bad idea, he’d told him, and now he was the one who was being affected. How predictable. He’d been against it and he was the one to suffer. Everything looked blurred as his legs locked, balance failing and sending him toppling to the floor. He could feel the skin on his hands being scraped off as he laid there, breath coming quick and sharp against the floor as he tried to move, tried to get back up. 

The floor was hard against his back as he stared blankly up at the ceiling, feeling a strange burning flooding every inch of his body. It hurt. There were no words to describe how much it hurt, the sensation so agonising it shorted out his nerves. Everything went cold within seconds of the fire and he could only let it happen. The last thing he heard was a strange whimper, something he expected to hear from some kind of wild animal. It took him too long to realise it was him.

Everything was silent. The room was filled with nothing but his laboured breaths as the young ensign’s mind whirled, running through the options. He was just cold. That was all. The gas had caused overheating and now he felt cold. There was nothing else wrong, nothing at all. There couldn’t be anything else wrong. If there was, he was doomed. He couldn’t do anything. If he was just cold it’d be okay. He’d warm up and everything would be fine, just fine, he just had to wait. His muscles were just a little frozen right now, that was all. He’d be fine in a few minutes. 

A few minutes came and went. Nothing had changed except for his panic. 

He couldn't move. Oh god. No. He had to. Karu. Hikaru was going to come back and he'd get infected too. No. He had to get to the comm. He had to call the bridge. He had to call someone. If anyone came in they'd be poisoned to. But he couldn't move. He could barely breathe. The door. Oh god. No. No no no. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't come in, couldn't let the gas out. He wanted to scream but his jaw was locked. He wanted to- 

Deep breaths were sucked in urgently as he shot up, throat constricted as his eyes screwed shut. For a minute, he just sat there, trying to convince himself it was a dream. Just a dream. A shaky laugh escaped him as he fell back against the bed, running a trembling hand through his hair and just letting his eyes close for a minute. Just a dream. He could move again. Everything was okay.

The minute stretched, absurdly long, before he glanced around. Hikaru normally would've woken him. He was good to him, if a bit overprotective. It was odd. He should have woken up to him being panicked, not his own mind snapping him out of whatever nightmare he’d been in. Blue eyes flicked around the room, settling on different objects idly before reaching his best friend.

In an instant, the fear from the dream came back tenfold, hot bile burning the back of his throat as he threw himself away. It couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real. No. Not him. Not Hikaru. Questions burst against his skull as he fumbled with his friend's wrist. Somehow, all his questions, all of the why the hell they were in the same bed, how could he have slept through this happening, how didn't he notice when he first opened his eyes, were irrelevant and yet utterly important as he tried fruitlessly to find his friend's pulse. 

He was shaking again, shaking so hard it felt like his joints were about to give way and he'd fall apart, when he heard the voice. Karu. Unmistakably Hikaru. Impossible. More questions filled his skull before he properly heard what his friend was saying, his friend that was somehow dead next to him and yet standing on the other side of him, eyes dark and narrowed, and then everything made sense. Worse than any nightmare, worse than anything. He couldn't even try and fight as his shaking body started to freeze up, terror flooding his senses as everything fell into place. No. 

The hand on his throat was warm and calloused, so similar and yet so different to his Karu. Instinct that he didn’t know he had screamed at him and one hand flew up, aiming straight for the man’s face, the impostor, but he’d seen it coming. His fist was slammed back into the bed before he could even brush the man’s cheek, something squelching against his knuckles as they hit the space next to his head. Blood. It was Karu’s blood.

The young Russian thrashed violently under the tight grip, the idea of screaming never once flitting into his mind. He could scream and alert someone but his mind was still frozen on the fact his best friend, his only real friend on the ship, was lying next to him in a pool of his own blood and the man who had undoubtedly killed him was pinning him down, heavy on his abdomen. The light caught his vicious grin for a second and a tremor ran through the seventeen year old, a whimper so reminiscent of his dream slipping from his throat.

“So different from Pasha,” the impostor murmured, leaning in and running his nose over the pale skin covering equally pale bone. The shudder made him chuckle hollowly as he straightened up again, looking down at the terrified navigator. “Maybe this will be even more fun.”

“радовать,” he managed to choke out, whining in response to the hand tightening around his throat. He hadn’t even realised what he said, didn’t realise his natural language was rolling from his tongue as he stared at man, trying to figure out what he could have possibly done to upset this fake version of his friend. He hadn’t even met him before.

“No, none of that,” ‘Sulu’ chided, reaching behind him for something the ensign couldn’t see before something cold and sharp was sliding lightly along his throat. “I didn’t come here to hear Russian. I came for something far more enjoyable.”

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a twenty word sarcastic reply. Turned into this. I still have no idea what I was thinking.  
> If you've made it this far, thanks for reading.


End file.
